


backfire

by ymorton



Category: Pod Save America (RPF)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-08
Updated: 2017-08-08
Packaged: 2018-12-12 17:50:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11742096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ymorton/pseuds/ymorton
Summary: prompt: "i would love to read a jontommy fic where lovett gets jealous... idc how it ends"





	backfire

“Oh god,” Sarah stage-whispers in the dark. Jon can see her eyes glinting in the light through the crack in the door. They’re in a closet in a convention center somewhere in Ohio, and the closet is coincidentally located in temporary Obama headquarters. Jon is a genius. 

“Oh god, this is a bad idea. The Senator’s gonna kill us. We’re getting fired.” 

“The Senator is never gonna find out about this,” Jon whispers back. “Now shhhh, I can hear them.” 

“This is so stupid, Lovett. You’re so stupid.” 

“Shut up!" 

She kicks him and he yelps. “What the fuck!” 

“Why’d I let you talk me into this?” 

“Shhhhh,” Jon hisses, as the door opens. Jon shoves Sarah aside so he can peer through the crack in the door. Sarah groans under her breath and puts her hands on his shoulders so she can see above him. 

The first guy comes in clutching a laptop under one broad arm and laughing. Jon’s eyes narrow. 

“Favreau,” he murmurs. Perfect. His plan is going _perfectly_. Jon Favreau can’t keep his giant handsome gap-toothed mouth shut to save his life. He’ll talk _all_ about his speech for the dinner tomorrow, Jon knows it. Senator Clinton’s speaking first, and Jon can’t wait to see the look on Favreau’s face when he hears his precious peace and love bullshit coming out of her capable, presidential mouth. 

Desperate times call for desperate fucking measures. 

“Ugh,” Sarah whispers. “Hope and change my ass.” 

Jon snorts, twists his head at an uncomfortable angle to see the guy following Favreau into the room. Blonde, stocky, with a half-unbuttoned shirt and ugly khakis and flushed cheeks. He’s grinning at Favreau, messenger bag slung tight across his chest. Tommy Vietor. 

“Asshole,” he breathes. 

“Is that the one who yelled at you for the “change you can Xerox” line?” 

“The very same.” Jon glares at him. “Time for payback, Vietor.” 

“By hiding in a closet,” Sarah whispers. She snorts. “God, we’re in a _closet_.” 

“Shh,” Jon hisses. Favreau’s setting up his laptop at the table, pulling out two folding chairs for them, while the other one rambles about some local newspaper interview they’re apparently doing tomorrow. God, they’re boring. Jon can’t believe how boring they are. He can’t believe these big-shouldered thick-headed dolts are probably going to _run_ the fucking _country_. It’s a travesty. It’s so _unfair,_ it’s so-

Tommy leans over, cheap chair squeaking under his weight, and turns Favreau’s head towards his with one hand, still laughing. Jon’s eyes widen when Tommy kisses Favreau’s mouth, slides a hand onto his knee. Favreau’s eyes flutter shut, mouth opening.

Sarah gasps above him, and Jon fumbles a hand up and over her mouth, holding his breath. Oh, god. 

Tommy’s getting into it now, feeling all the way up Favreau’s thigh with his hand. Favreau breaks off and laughs sheepishly, face red. His legs are splayed open. Jon’s mouth is dry. 

Sarah licks his palm and he bites back a yelp, lets her go and wipes his hand on his shirt. 

“Dude,” Favreau says. He’s smiling a lot. Like his eyes aren’t even open, he’s smiling so hard. “I have a team meeting in ten. I’m not walking in there with a hard-on.” 

“Ten minutes?” Tommy says, grinning at him. He reaches easily between Favreau's legs and Jon swallows thickly. “We can do ten minutes.” 

“Oh my god,” Sarah breathes. Jon sort of wants to die and sort of wants to watch this until its inevitable, pornographic conclusion. Sarah still has her hands on his shoulders, squeezing tight. 

“Later,” Favreau says, laughing softly, pushing Tommy's hand off. He looks happy. Of course he’s happy, he’s getting laid _and_ his candidate is in the lead. Life must be really fucking great for Jon Favreau. “Meet in my room before dinner?” 

“Yeah,” Tommy says, kissing him again. He runs his hand over Favreau’s buzzed scalp, scritches the back of his neck gently, and then stands up, grabbing his bag. “See you up there.”

“Yeah, see you soon.” 

Favreau fumbles a pair of big headphones over his ears, starts typing, and Jon sinks back onto the floor of the closet as quietly as he can. Sarah’s next to him, knees to her chest, looking a little dazed. 

“Shit,” she whispers. 

“Yeah.” 

He can’t sabotage them _now_. He can’t do that to his fellow gays. He’ll go to gay hell. 

“What do we do?” Sarah breathes. 

“We wait,” Jon says numbly, settling in. Shit, his legs are already going numb. This may have backfired slightly. “We wait.” 


End file.
